Dramatist
by Beyondthebloodredsunset
Summary: A semi coherant monologue running through Severus's head, as his mind falls to dust. Musings on Harry and sanity.


Feedback will be snorted up my nose using a stripy pink straw in much the same mannar as an 80's pop star doing cocaine inhallation. You have been warned. 

  
Dramatist 

He had had a governess once, as a small child, who had told him he had a flair for the dramatic. He had told her some extravagant tale as to why he refused to obey her every whim and wish, and she had thrown back her hands in despair, declaring him to be either a compulsive liar, or an actor worthy of world renown.

It was admittedly melodramatic to be as he was now. Settled, cross legged, a top the centre of the staff table, overlooking the empty main hall. Long black robes spread out as a puddle of dark ink around him. A glass of deep, blood red wine held delicately by the fluted stem in long, pianists fingers. Drinking sporadically from his glass, and staring out vacantly through the enchanted ceiling the rest of the time. He wondered pensively if it counted if there was nobody present to enjoy your performance. 

A soft voice broke off the musings, "Sev? Sev are you here?" He heard Harry's voice, but he didn't bother to look to the door or visibly register having heard him. The performer never acknowledged his audience until the end, after all. 

The defence against the arts teacher stood silent by the door watching his lover for a moment, before crossing the expanse between them. Pulling his small frame up on to the table beside Snape. "The ghosts won't listen to you." Harry remarked softly.

"No." Snape agreed. "It wouldn't matter if they did; I can't think of what to say to them." What could he ever say to make it right again? "I like to think they listen anyway."

Harry laid his head on the other man's shoulder. He didn't know what to say either. To Severus's ghosts; to Severus. What could he say? He could look into the depths of those black eyes, and see the mess that lurked inside. The torn fragments slowly falling apart. What was he supposed to say? Well darling, life's shit. Learn to live with it? Even though I have no idea about the places you've been; I'm here? Please don't fall apart again? Let me into your heart like you used to? Harry choked back what he was about to say, and a half sob along with it. 

Severus sat and watched Harry quietly, looking down as the younger man stumbled over words to say to him. He knew it was no easier for Harry some days. He wished he could tell him it would all be alright again. It was just…he was feeling a little cut off these days… almost as if telling Harry he was there would automatically mean that he wouldn't be. He didn't want to go away again. Back to that part of his mind. Drifting around in the nightmares. Dancing a tango with the ghosts. Back there. 

He remembered still. Remembered the small boy sat on his Mothers lap in the carriage, laughing; remembered four white stallions pulling them up the winding drive to Malfoy Manor. Remembered Lucius's face, pretending to smirk, but the pure joy behind it very real to those who knew where to look for it. 

Remembered Luicus. Mind razor sharp and sure.

Remembered Narcissa. Skin like a statue, milky white and clear grey eyes. 

Remembered Draco and the other death eaters, dropping like flies at Voldemort's finger tips. 

Remembered the dementors, and Azkaban, and death, and torture, and scenes no man's mind should have to endure. 

He'd been waiting a long, long time to fall apart. He wanted to anaesthetize and sterilize his memory. He wanted to sleep again at night. He wanted; needed to slip away into a more peaceful time. He was tired of feeling nothing but pain. He wanted…

Next to me. A small man, with green, so green, greener than grass, or jade or anything eyes. It should have been a better thing. Harry deserved better. Deserved more. Deserved something other than the ruined and wrecked remains of a potions master old enough to be his Father. It was too late for him, but Harry deserved something more. 

He laid his cheek against the dark hair, closing his eyes. It was a relief to be here with Harry. To let down the façade for an hour or two. The cold, chill and grim potions master. Evil and terrible former death eater trusted by no one but Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived. A traitor and a turn coat to both sides. Something less than human. How could this warm and affectionate person really care for him? Harry deserved someone worth saving. 

"You…you don't have to ..not going to try and keep you here. You understand that you aren't tied to me, don't you? I wouldn't think any less of you if you got up and left right now. Fly away to someone new." His voice was faltering. The tears starting to crawl down his face. The façade of evil replaced by one of calm, in it's turn now crumbling. No where to hide. His head telling him to let the boy go, his heart telling him to cling to the one thing that kept him human. The two warring with each other in that moment. 

Harry looked up. His answer sworn in his eyes. Not needing the time to hesitate and find the words this time. "I've got one good reason for being here still. I like the person I am around you. I'm not running out on you." 

Looking back, "If I could give all my love to you…" he said hesitantly.

Harry smiled again. "I know. One more good reason for still being here." 


End file.
